


Again

by Andromakhe



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief, Hope, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5249420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromakhe/pseuds/Andromakhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after "Return to New York." Splinter quietly basks in his sons' presences, thinking back over the months he thought them lost for good. The bitter grief and sweet joy he experienced in Japan has revisited him in the U.S.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick speculation on how Splinter felt during the invasion. I know tenses shift, but it sounds more natural this way. I wrote this spontaneously. I hope it’s emotional. Think of it like a journal entry.

It is happening again. No. It has happened again. I’ve lost my family and my home, and once again, it is because of Oroku Saki.

 

It is the first coherent thought I remember after awakening from that horrific drowning attempt.

 

I can’t do this again. I can’t! One would think, after having experienced it once before, it would be easier to cope with, but it is somehow worse this time. Perhaps because I am losing more children, on top of losing Miwa yet again. 

 

And then it strikes me. When I lost Shen and Miwa, when I was forced from my first home for my own safety, there was still hope in my heart. I still had the will and the spirit to keep fighting.

 

But now, forced from my second home, my children all unaccounted for and the city fallen, I cannot find it in me to conceive of a new beginning. I tried it already and this is where it ended - exiled and alone, with even more grief and bitterness than the first time. If I tried and this happened a third time…No. I am barely clinging to life as it is.

 

My children! I sob into my hands - warm, flowing tears; moans and wails of despair so deep I cannot put it into words. It is so cold. How can my tears be so warm? 

 

After the Shredder tried to kill me, he must have gone after them. He already killed Leonardo, did he not? Took him away? My children were good fighters, but not yet a match for the Shredder. Maybe I should have trained them harder? No. I train them hard already, and I am selfish. I wish for them to love me, and working them to exhaustion is a sure way to create resentment. They are the good boys they are because they know love. All of them.

 

I regret that I never got to tell my sons just what they are to me. What they were? No. They cannot be dead. They must be around this city somewhere. Perhaps they will come underground in a few days. Surely as soon as…No. The Shredder killed them, or else is torturing them. At any rate, they will die eventually. I failed them, just as I failed Shen and Miwa. 

 

My women were a source of hope and joy. My boys, though, they were that and more. I have many more memories with them, much stronger bonds. I will always miss my beloved wife. And if Miwa is still alive somewhere, I will continue to hope to get to know her. But I had the privilege and good fortune to learn and grow with my boys. They gently, gradually, healed my heart, mended my spirit, renewed my belief in the goodness of humanity. They gave me a reason to carry on and the ability to laugh once more. Leonardo’s compassion, Raphael’s loyalty, Donatello’s dedication, Michelangelo’s optimism - I notice and value each of my sons as individuals as well as a family. And I never got to tell them how much I love and respect who they are. I hope they know this, or knew this, as the case probably is.

 

I’m not quite sure how long I wandered the sewers in search of some sign of my sons. One day, though, I must have decided they were gone from this world. And with that decision, even Splinter faded away. Hamato Yoshi, my Japan identity, and Splinter, my immigrant one, both locked away. I realize now that I must have put them into some kind of mental box, the way one would store irreplaceable and important possessions. April found it and reopened it.

 

Leonardo tells me he and his brothers undertook the spiritual refinement ritual. I was very proud to hear of their success. He says they spoke to me in a fire and knowing I was alive motivated them to return home. I do not consciously remember this and likely never will, but if Leonardo says it, it must be true. So however I managed to encourage them, I’m glad. Perhaps my spirit could not give up on them without solid proof of their deaths.

 

I slept a long time after ascertaining my sons, April, and Casey were all accounted for. It was a joyous feeling to wake up surrounded by my children. I’ve returned home. My sons have rescued me yet again, this time with the help of their friends, friends I also consider honorary family members. I will tell them. I will tell my sons how much they matter to me. We have saved each other.

 


End file.
